


Raised by Wolves

by AnxietyonIce



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Communication, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, One Night Stand, PR nightmare, Post-Cup of China, Sad and Happy, Victor's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyonIce/pseuds/AnxietyonIce
Summary: Someone in a meta post said this (the title) of Victor and it hasn’t left my mind. I guess this is a little study in how/why Victor is kind of vicious despite wanting everyone to like him and having a fine degree of control over his behavior. This boy fascinates me and I love him very much.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Lilia Baranovskaya/Yakov Feltsman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Raised by Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Scene starts after the events of the Cup of China (“...I’ll step down as your coach” and “This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you…”).
> 
> Victor's POV until I get a little omniscient at the end because ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The hum of the plane beneath them was heavy as Yuri alternated between dozing and lifting his head to stare vacantly into some dark crevice between the seats in front of them. Victor watched him out of the corner of his eye, suspecting Yuri was still asleep to some degree even when his eyes were open.

The past few days had been whiplash, and if Victor weren’t so preoccupied with Yuri, even he would be feeling the effects. He hadn’t sobbed or fretted or performed or panicked as Yuri had, but he had done his fair share of thinking, of over-thinking, of masking for reporters, and of ascending to a moment of joyous devotion for the world to finally see. 

It was a lot.

What did Yuri need from him now? He asked himself this question often—almost constantly, actually. Yuri kept him guessing, but perhaps that wasn’t all Yuri’s fault. Perhaps Yuri didn’t know exactly what he needed either, or even what he wanted.

Victor was sure. Victor was always sure.

“Yuri~” Victor hummed, matching the pitch of the plane’s engines to keep the moment as private as possible. Privacy was the circumstance in which Yuri was most likely to open up to him. Victor oriented himself more toward Yuri, crossing his legs in his direction and leaning in slightly. Just enough to be familiar, not enough to crowd.

Yuri turned to him slowly and raised his eyebrows. As he did, his eyes closed, adorably. It was another test of Victor’s resolve not to lean in and nuzzle against one of Yuri’s soft cheeks.

“I haven’t told you yet,” Victor continued with a sad smile. He ventured to take Yuri’s hand. It was warm under the airline blanket that covered both their laps. Yuri’s fingers curled around his own, and Victor felt his heart flop over on itself. “I’m sorry.”

Yuri blinked slowly and nodded, but then furrowed his brows. “Why did you say it?”

Victor knew he should be prepared to answer this question. He had been mulling it over, but kept running into dead-ends—walls painted with big menacing red letters that read, “Victor Nikiforov is a monster.”

Victor looked at Yuri for a while before he decided. “Would it be completely dissatisfying to say that I don’t really know?” He smiled slightly, cocked his head, waved a hand. It was the lightness and the ease that he wore so well. Yuri stared at him, and Victor knew it wasn’t going to work.

“Yeah, no,” Yuri said flatly, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “How about this. You think about it and let me know what you figure out.”

The high they had been riding after the Kiss of Triumph felt almost entirely gone at this point. They hadn’t had a chance to even talk about _that_ yet—only dodge comments and questions from fans, friends, and the media so they could take care of the necessities before departing. There had been a lot of furtive glances and smiles between them, but no conversation.

And now, the Kiss was overtaken by what had come before it. The Test, perhaps. (Yuri had asked if Victor was testing him. Had said he knew Victor wasn’t serious.)

Waiting on Yuri for a cue in the darkness of the plane, Victor wished with all his heart that he had made a different decision in that parking garage. But, as he felt that, Yuri turned to him slowly, and his face and posture softened. He searched Victor’s face and something like pity entered his eyes. “If it’s experimental coaching methods you’re trying out, I’m probably not the right guinea pig.”

Victor released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and chuckled. He wanted to cry. Why hadn’t he cried after a weekend like this? 

“I clearly have much to learn, still,” Victor admitted graciously.

“I’m sorry you’re not perfect at this right away,” Yuri teased, poking Victor in the side and making the Russian yip. A few heads turned at the sudden noise. “Did you know? Some people take decades learning how to coach athletes effectively. Isn’t that weird?”

“No need to be cruel,” Victor, failing to hide his grin while acting affronted. “And anyway, judging by this—“ Victor patted Yuri’s silver medal through his sweatshirt “—I’d say that was all merely a miscommunication and I’m actually a natural.”

“A miscommunication?!” Yuri scoffed, his smile wide in disbelief. “Affirming my worst fears while I was on the verge of a panic attack before an absolutely crucial performance? A  _ miscommunication _ ?”

The line between joking and arguing was thin now, Victor realized. His Yuri was fragile. Tough and fragile. He thought of rock-splitters—how every hit the rock took set it up for the one that would make it come apart, finally.

Victor hung his head just enough for his bangs to shield his eyes. “I  _ am _ sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. Prayer circle that the next thing out of Yuri’s mouth was kind, or that he said anything it all. It felt like minutes passed before Yuri squeezed his hand ever so slightly.

“I said I wanted you to be yourself,” Yuri said at last. His voice was soft, his mouth close enough to Victor’s ear that he could feel the warmth of Yuri’s breath. “I want to know you. All of you. Even the scary parts that make me cry. Show me who you are. Tell me why you did it, when you know.”

With that, Yuri pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and leaned against Victor, seemingly intent on snoozing through the rest of flight.

~~

St. Petersburg, Russia. 2004.

A door slammed two floors below, abruptly cutting off the sound of Yakov’s yelling. 1. 2. 3–a crash as Yakov knocked something to the floor. The burly old Russian was probably pacing around the front parlor, fuming helplessly. Victor closed his eyes and pulled the sides of his pillow over his ears. He had an essay to write; his tutor had already given him an extension, which was unheard of. He tried to brainstorm a thesis statement, but his mind strayed to the tension beneath him, to the skating elements he’d struggled with today, to the trouble he was still in for teasing Georgi. Why were the coaches taking that seriously? The junior skaters were many and picked on each other constantly. Just because Victor was the junior world champion two years running, he couldn’t enjoy himself with the others anymore? Georgi had obviously told on him, but why? As far as something dorky Georgi would do, tattling was right up there. When Victor tried to think about the matter seriously, he ended up rolling his eyes, and the reaction felt involuntary.

Another door slammed below, and this time Victor winced. It had all been going well since Victor had moved back in with Yakov and Lilia. Certainly day-to-day activities went smoother since he could accompany Yakov to and from the skate club and Lilia to and from the ballet studio twice a week. No need for his parents to awkwardly take turns shuttling him around, or hire someone to do so. “The boy needs consistency and routine,” Yakov had said to them in no uncertain terms. They had turned over responsibility for Victor even more readily this time.

Routine Yakov and Lilia could offer, but consistency was hit or miss. Victor had overheard some of the Russian team’s other coaches musing to each other after Yakov stormed out of the skate club during a heated phone call with Lilia. The gist of the comments was that the two did best when they had a project skater to work on together. The couple had been completely in sync getting him ready to compete internationally as a junior. Maybe they’d pull themselves together to prepare one of the juniors for their senior debut? There were so many up-and-coming talents on the Russian team, but maybe Elena would inspire them, or Maksim. Or maybe even Georgi. Victor hoped it would be someone, or that perhaps they could be inspired to double-down on his own training. Anything to keep them from taking cheap shots at each other and disturbing Victor’s limited time for schoolwork and sleep. Was this better than his mother’s empty apartment? His father’s mansion full of strangers?

Footsteps coming up the stairs and the housekeeper’s gentle knock on his door. “Vitya. Come down for dinner.”

Another delay, but Victor realized he was starving. 

At the table, Lilia observed Victor down her nose. Victor corrected the way he held his knife, flattening his wrist. Satisfied, she turned her attention to Yakov. “Darling, you look like you could use a sip of something bracing.”

“Lilia,” Yakov growled in warning. Victor sighed and received a sharp look from both of them.

Silence save for the sound of silverware against china and politely muffled chewing.

“So I was thinking,” Victor chanced, his tone light enough to make a mockery of the current atmosphere. “It might be time retire my long program in favor of something more…” He made a show of struggling to find the right word. “ _ Unexpected. _ ”

“What the hell are you talking about, Vitya,” Yakov asked gruffly. “Your free is fine.”

“It’s  _ boring _ ,” Victor whined. He had meant to sound a bit more grown-up and sophisticated when he brought this up, thinking that at least Lilia might listen to his ideas for revitalizing his performance, but the evening had taken something out of him. “I mean, what’s the point of showing the judges the same thing over and over? I bet they get bored when they can’t tell the skaters apart.”

“If you’re worried about standing out, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Lilia mused. “Unless, of course, you cut that mane of yours.”

Victor clutched his ponytail possessively. 

“After the way you treated Georgi, you should worry,” Yakov warned, pointing his fork at Victor. “Sleep with your eyes open, Samson.”

“Is he serious, though?” Victor asked as if prodding for gossip. “Georgi?”

“Victor Nikiforov,” Lilia began sternly. Here we go, Victor thought. “There are many forms of talent and passion among your peers. You must endeavor to respect them, if not understand them. If someone’s source of genius is beyond your scope, it does you no favors to act resultful. The effect is counterproductive and, frankly, unattractive.”

“Very well,” Victor said, smiling. I’ll deliver Georgi a written apology tomorrow. Will that do?

Lilia sniffed and nodded. Yakov paused before he resumed sawing at the meat on his plate. “This business about your free skate,” he said. “Tell me more.”

~~

Present.

They had arrived safely back in Hasetsu and—after some awkward acknowledgements with Yuri’s family of the televised kiss in China—were restoring themselves in the hot spring.

_ Heaven _ , Victor thought, sinking down into the steaming water as it enveloped his body, which he hadn’t realized had been so weary.  _ Home _ . 

The word came unbidden. He looked over at Yuri as if he had heard Victor’s thoughts. If Yuri did, he gave no sign, his head resting against his forearms propped up on the wall of the bath. He let his body float up until the tip of his rear poked out of the top of the water. Victor could have kissed it. He almost did. 

“Yuri~” Victor purred, gliding over to where Yuri was floating. He took one of Yuri’s ankles and began gently rubbing a pattern. Yuri planted his face harder on his forearms and muffled theatrical sobs. “Oh, my Yuri,” Victor cooed gently. He felt his breath seize a little as he watched rivulets of water run down Yuri’s back as the exhausted skater bobbed slowly in and out of the water. Victor kneaded Yuri’s calves gently, eliciting more sweet sounds—moans and sighs and the occasional tiny yelp when Victor hit a knot. 

Victor continued this way over most of Yuri’s body. Victor avoided the bruises, knowing where they lay like he knew what Yuri ate that day, how many hours he’d slept, what muscles he’d stretched between flights, and all the words Yuri had spoken to him between naps. When had his memory become so dependable?

“Victor,” Yuri said sweetly, turning to him. If Victor didn’t already feel like a puddle of warm water, he could have melted. “You’re very good to me.”

Victor couldn’t help it. He reached out and touched Yuri’s jaw, then smoothed his bangs from his forehead to better see his eyes and expression. What a wonderful face Yuri had. Strong brows and expressive eyes that could turn sultry to sweet to daring to something entirely unknown to Victor in fractions of a second. Thick black lashes rested against his full cheeks when he slept. Under those cheeks were handsome cheekbones that, when they caught the light, prompted a double-take. And those lips…

“Victor?” Yuri asked. He tilted his head and smirked. That was it. Victor closed his eyes and closed the gap.

The lips that met Victor’s were warm, now—plump and relaxed and inviting in a way they couldn’t have been for the surprise kiss post-free-skate. It was everything a first kiss was supposed to be. Victor’s heart fluttered as Yuri leaned into him, putting a modest hand on Victor’s chest over his heart. Victor stroked Yuri’s jaw gently as butterflies danced in his abdomen. 

He felt Yuri start to smile against his mouth and pull away. Yuri was looking down at the water coyly, grinning ear-to-ear. Victor felt himself grinning back, heart doing backflips. “How have we never done this before?” Yuri asked, his smile dazzling.

“You’re asking  _ me _ ?” Victor replied incredulously. “Listen, I  _ tried… _ ”

Yuri’s giggles soon devolved into some kind of half-hearted attempt at underwater wrestling. The objective seemed to simply be to play, and to hold each other, and to laugh through the overwhelming feelings that flooded them in the private bath. 

Slightly out of breath and gazing into each other’s eyes, Yuri confessed. “This is a lot.”

“I know,” Victor replied automatically. He did. He clutched the back of Yuri’s head and kissed his forehead. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

“Neither have I,” said Yuri. “But that’s probably obvious.”

“Not really,” Victor said. “You never answered my inquiry about all your past lovers.”

Yuri threw his head back and laughed. “I’m a virgin, dummy.”

“You’re full of surprises is what you are.” Victor kissed his cheek, and then his other cheek, and then his neck (briefly, because Yuri gasped). Victor held his hands up and stepped away teasingly. “We go at your pace.” Yuri was automatically taking a step toward Victor for each step Victor took backward through the water. There was a sharp fire in Yuri’s eyes, but it wavered when he got close and Yuri dunked himself under the water, swimming quickly away. Victor grabbed Yuri’s ankle and hauled him back toward him gleefully.

Yuri’s head suddenly surfaced with a laugh-cry of, “Ooow ow ow ow!”

“ _ Sorry! _ ” Victor gasped as he planted kisses on Yuri’s sore, bruised ankle. “Oh, what was I thinking. My Yuri. You must forgive this forgetful brain of mine.”

Yuri sighed dramatically. “Fiiiiiine.” He glided over with his back to Victor’s chest, offering himself for Victor’s inevitable embrace.

~~

Later.

“What’s up, slut?” Chris answered. This is what Victor liked about Chris, among all the other things. The Swissman flew in the face of Victor’s stuffy, respectable upbringing.

“Oh, nothing much,” Victor replied, inspecting his nails. “Just checking in on my favorite Swiss meadow boy.”

“If this call is for gossip, press 1, for advice, press 2, for general distraction from the trials of life, press 3…”

“Chris,” Victor said by way of anchoring the conversation. “I’m a wreck.”

“I know,” Chris said. “But you finally kissed your banquet boy, so now you’re just a different kind of wreck, right?”

“Yeah, but I also was kind of awful to him. Before his free skate.”

“Before the Kiss?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooh no. Let me get a drink real quick.” Victor held his phone away from his ear while Chris apparently tapped the receiver to mimic footsteps. “Okay, I’m back. What happened.”

Victor recalled the situation as best he could and hoped he got the details correct enough that Chris could give it to him straight.

“So, you intentionally triggered him,” Chris said. Oh. That might have been too straight.

“I was out of options!” Victor said. “He needed to just snap out of it. I couldn’t reason with him.”

“Wow,” Chris said.

“What?”

“I’m no expert on Yuri but...you really couldn’t think of anything else?”

Victor considered a moment. “No. If I tried to comfort him, he got mad. And isolating him was barely keeping the tide at bay. He needed a wake-up call.”

“Maybe so. What did he say when he was gross-sobbing?”

“I didn’t call it that,” Victor said.

“Well, that’s what it’s called.”

Victor thought for a moment. The memory was hard to retrieve. Had he blocked it out? “He just kept asking why I would say that and—oh! He said he needed me to believe in him more than he believes in himself.”

“Oh man,” Chris breathed. “Do you?”

“Yes!”

“Well, you haven’t convinced him I guess. It’s almost like there’s more to unpack there…”

“Your sarcasm is unhelpful and unseemly,” Victor chided. He pictured Chris sprawled out naked on his couch for this conversation, looking as far from seemly as could be achieved.

“I’m consulting my crystal ball for you,” Chris continued, “and, unfortunately, Yuri’s innermost fears and insecurities just aren’t appearing to me. It’s all fog…”

“Yes, I believe I understand,” Victor sighed with mock impatience. “He’s still sleeping, but I’ll talk to him soon.”

“Yay!” Chris said. “Anything else I can help you with, Victor, my divine inspiration?”

“Well, I guess since you’re some kind of kind of magician now—“

“I prefer sex wizard,” Chris corrected.

“Sex wizard. Maybe you can grant me a spell that I can cast on sleeping beauty here to free him of his most painful feelings and fears in the least painful way possible.”

“While he’s sleeping?”

“What better time?”

“Is he always sleeping? It seems like he’s always sleeping when you call me.”

“He really likes sleeping.”

“I bet he looks delicious.”

“He does.”

“Pics or he’s not delicious.”

“That’s a breach of consent, Chris. You should know as the wizard of sex.”

“It’s just sex wizard.”

~~

Moscow, Russia. 2011.

“Mr. Nikiforov!” Dozens of reporters called his name. One shouldered her way to the front of the mob, microphone brandished and camera lens over her shoulder. Victor supposed he could give one comment. Yakov, who was at his heels, hung back obligingly. It was Victor’s time to shine.

“How does it feel to win your first World Championship?”

Victor wasn’t sure what kind of question he expected, but definitely something more creative or inspired. How did it  _ feel _ ? Victor smiled in a way that he hoped was calm, charming, and self-assured.

“I’m elated,” he said smoothly. “It’s been a very long road to get here and I couldn’t have done it without the guidance of my coaches, especially Yakov Feltsman—,” he gestured behind him. Yakov was already talking to another reporter. “—and the support of my fans. Thank you all so much, from the bottom of my heart. I hope I made you proud today.”

The words barely sounded like his own. He’d been schooled in how to answer questions about his performances and results, about his training and career plans. As much as he wanted to come out with something clever or genuine, he didn’t quite know how. He’d have to deliver all his surprises on the ice.

“You’ve been notoriously underscored on your programs in past competitions,” another reporter jumped in. “Are you satisfied with your scores this week?”

“I’m never satisfied,” Victor replied swiftly, flashing a grin at the nearest camera. He turned his attention to a reporter whose name he knew. “Sasha.”

“Victor,” Sasha jumped in. “What can you tell us about your plans?”

“I feel good about what’s to come,” Victor began vaguely. As always, he ignored the voice that reminded him of how easily that stress fracture had occurred last year, how as in-control as he was, there were still factors at play that even he could not prepare for or overcome. “I’m taking the summer off from ice shows to work on brand new elements and my programs for the Grand Prix series.”

“So this is just the beginning for Victor Nikiforov,” Sasha beamed. He knew he liked him.

“You’ll see,” he teased.

Victor felt Yakov’s hand clutch his arm to guide him away. They both waved and politely pushed their way through to throng to the car waiting outside the rink. There would be a press conference held at the hotel where Victor would need to answer similar questions and more. He was still buzzing with endorphins and the thrill of the crowd, bobbing up and down a little after squeezing into the car next to Lilia. She popped a bottle of champagne and poured a glass for him, Yakov, and herself. 

“Well done, Vitya,” she said, smiling at him. It was a rare moment. Victor grinned, eyes going to the golden bubbles popping in his glass and then to the gold of his medal glinting in the light of the street lamps.

“You should be proud,” Yakov conceded, taking a sip of champagne. “But we need to go over some things.”

In reality, it was a sign of just how pleased Yakov was with Victor’s free skate that he wasn’t launching into (another) critique right then over celebratory champagne. Another sign was Lilia’s presence. She and Yakov had been separated for years, now, but Lilia had come to Moscow to support Victor for World’s, and the flashes of old comradery—if not affection—between her and Yakov had bolstered Victor at this turning point in his career. He was grateful, even if it was contrived. Whatever the nature of it, he was the cause of their united front, and it gave him what he needed that week to focus and win. As Victor sat there between Yakov and Lilia, tempted to transfer the flower crown someone had crowned him with at the podium ceremony to Yakov’s head, he felt a peculiar mixture of joy and sadness in his heart. These peaceful times together had become few and far between. 

Not to mention short-lived.

After the press conference and a few more short interviews, the drinks were flowing. Victor would be skating in tomorrow’s exhibition gala and was attempting to nurse a single vodka tonic for hours. It was more of a prop than a beverage. The hotel lounge was filled with members of the Russian team—athletes, coaches, and staff. A few select members of the media were permitted. Most left after they got what they needed, but some hung around in case the open bar loosened lips. Sasha was one of the stragglers. Victor spotted him hanging back, looking for an opening in the throng of people making conversation with Victor. Victor waved him over.

“How are you going to get your scoop without being more assertive?” Victor leaned over to ask him one-on-one. Some of the throng around Victor peeled off, taking the hint that Victor had moved on.

“I don’t need to butt in,” Sasha said with a slight smile. “I have very good hearing.”

Victor gasped. “Should I feel violated?” He asked. “Or perhaps you just know that I’ll notice you and invite you into my circle?”

“If only I had that kind of confidence,” Sasha replied smoothly. He clearly did have that kind of confidence. Victor wasn’t fooled.

A crash sounded from across the room, punctuated by Yakov’s voice. 

“Oh dear,” Victor said mildly. He was going to need another drink after all. “I’d better check on this,” Victor said to his admirers, and Sasha. “Excuse me a moment.”

Victor strode between the clusters of conversations until he had an arm around Yakov, who was fuming and downing a double shot. Victor glanced over in time to see Lilia storming out. “Whaaaat happened?” Victor asked.

Yakov flung Victor’s arm off. “That woman is sick,” he said. Were his consonants slurring? Maybe a bit.

“Did she ask you to slow down?” Victor asked, absently tracing the rim of Yakov’s empty glass with his fingertip.

Yakov turned to face him and gave him an aggressively withering look. “What the fuck do you think?”

If there was one thing Yakov and Lilia did well—besides coach athletes to victory—it was get under each others’ skin like needles.

“Well, you know,” Victor replied, “Women don’t usually like it when you pick apart their appearance.”

“I was  _ complimenting _ her!” Yakov said exasperatedly, hands outstretched. “Why does she have to take my meaning in the worst way possible?”

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, but smiled through it. “Yakov, I’m going to order another drink. Is that okay?”

Yakov scoffed. “Do whatever you want, Vitya. I’ve had it.”

He sat with Yakov a while, listening to him rant. He could sense that he was further irritating the old man with his mild expression and simple solutions to Yakov’s frustrations with Lilia, but he didn’t care. The whole thing was ridiculous. It wasn’t that hard to be nice, even when you were angry. They’d trained him to exercise such fine control over himself that it seemed preposterous to him that they got away with behaving this way, but far be it for him to say so.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Victor finally said, downing the last of his fourth drink. “You seem determined to be upset.”

That did it. Yakov wheeled on him and shouted, pointing for Victor to get out of his face.

Victor stood calmly and strode off, striving to give no indication of how flustered he was. How frustrated. How over it. Deep, steadying breaths. Poise. A face that said nothing’s the matter here except the usual nonsense.

“Everything alright?” A voice came from beside him. Sasha.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Victor smiled. “No story for you, sorry.”

“I don’t know about that,” Sasha mused. 

Victor looked up at him. The man was a little bit taller and almost as handsome as himself, but not in the same way. He was also smiling mischievously at Victor, which Victor found he didn’t mind in the slightest.

It disarmed him, though. Victor looked away, a blush rising on his nose. “If you think I’m going to slip up…” He paused, making up his mind, “you’re going to have a long night ahead of you.”

Sasha choked on the sip of his drink he’d been taking. “Is that so?”

“It’s so. As you can see, my people are everywhere.” While the assistant coaches and trainers weren’t paying much attention, the Russian team’s publicist was eyeing Victor and the reporter intently. 

Nadiya didn’t stop watching them for several rounds of drinks, even as the lounge emptied to only half a dozen people. They had grown closer. Their body language relaxed and it was all they could do not to touch each other. Whenever they stopped themselves, they giggled, feeling Nadiya’s eyes on them. Finally, she walked over.

“Sasha,” she said coldly. “Nice to see you. How do you know our Vitya?”

“He answers my questions in interviews sometimes,” Sasha said. “And looks very fetching when he does it.” Sasha might have been a little drunk.

“He always looks fetching,” she countered dryly. “That’s what he is. He’s fetching. Victor, time to go.”

Victor cocked his head and looked at her. “Excuse me?”

“The competition may be over, but the performance is not. You’re skating tomorrow.” She eyed his drink. What number was this one?

Victor sighed and stared into his glass, which reeled and warped under his gaze. It occurred to him that standing up might reveal just how right she was in sending him to bed.

But the night was young, and he was 21 years old, and he had just won his first World Championship, and his coach-parents were fighting again, and he was pent up, and a cute guy was making him feel nice and forget that he was some kind of figure skating machine painstakingly designed for the sole purpose of accumulating world titles. 

Sasha stumbled through an overly polite goodbye, but he also dropped a slip of paper in a plant by the lounge exit, making sure that Victor saw and Nadiya did not.

~~

The next morning. Victor’s hotel room.

“We can’t have this,” Nadiya said, shaking her head. She sat at the desk while Victor sat on the edge of the bed cross-legged, wrapped in a blanket. She was laying the shame on thick, but Victor wasn’t having it. His head hurt too badly to feel anything but numb.

The pictures were circulating wildly on social media. There weren’t many, but two or three clear ones depicted Victor in a club with Sasha. Victor was starting to remember bits and pieces, prompted in part by the images and in other part by Nadiya’s questions, which were many. Nadiya held up her phone and glared at him. In the purple light of the club, Victor’s platinum hair and fair face illuminated, he was clearly enjoying the ministrations of another man’s mouth on his neck. 

“That was right before I told him he could make out with me off the record,” Victor recalled aloud. Nadiya snorted.

“Luckily the actual makeout shots are all blurry,” she said. “But in the context of the other photos, it’s obvious it’s you.”

Victor shrugged. “I never do anything like this. Once doesn’t make a pattern.”

“It does when people are looking for what they want to see and don’t see what you do every day,” Nadiya corrected. “You know this.”

Victor sighed. “At least it didn’t seem like he planned it, since there are no good photos.”

“If there were good photos, it would look too much like a setup or a publicity stunt,” Nadiya replied. She was typing at rapid speed on her laptop as she spoke. “You’re smarter than this, Victor.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Victor replied, taking a sip of his coffee and cringing as a wave of nausea hit him. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Sure, hon,” Nadiya said. “Okay, I have to ask this. I’m sorry. Did you have unprotected sex?”

“Protected sex,” Victor said, pointing to the trash can. A used condom lay draped over the rim.

“Oh god,” Nadiya said, averting her gaze back to her laptop. “I’ll set up an appointment for you to get tested when you get home.”

Victor just nodded. He’d had his first wild night out in a long time and couldn’t even remember it. He’d finally had sex after months of nothing but intense training, and he couldn’t remember that either.

“You’re due at the rink in a couple hours, so eat and rest. And pull yourself together.”

“I bottomed,” Victor confessed. He felt it, and he knew already it would affect his skating today.

Nadiya stopped typing and closed her eyes. “Okay, well, adjust your exhibition skate." Opening her eyes, she turned to Victor. "Just...please look alive today. Sasha has been paid and is under contract, and the story is that last night was a planned celebration with a friend of yours. If you get any questions about last night—which you will—that’s the whole story. We don’t know who was there and you must give no indication that you don’t remember the events. Are you listening? All we need to convey is that nothing you did was spontaneous or reckless. You’re a responsible young adult having fun on the town. I’ve already briefed the team.”

“And Yakov?”

“And Yakov. Though you will need to talk to him soon.”

Victor thought of the missed calls on his phone and fell to the side, curling up in fetal position. His mind was in a haze. “There’s actually a press statement that says I’m a responsible adult who likes to party sometimes?”

“No, except for the private one to the ISU,” Nadiya said. “The public message is delivered via the social media accounts of your close acquaintances, in their voices.”

“Ah,” Victor realized. Nadiya had a lot of power in an emergency.

“We’ll discuss _your_ social media strategy later,” she said, shutting her laptop with a clack and sliding it into her handbag. She clapped at him, and he came to for a second. “Drink your coffee! Look alive.” And then she left.

~

Victor didn’t contact Sasha again after that night or reply to the couple of casual texts Sasha sent him. He reasoned that it was because the man had been paid off and that made it awkward, but really, he just wasn’t interested in the suave reporter now that whatever it was was out of his system. As always, he longed for something completely different, something he couldn’t even fathom until he saw it dancing on the ice years later, passionate expression on his perfect face and music flowing loudly from his limbs, calling to Victor like no one on earth ever has.

The subject of his longing lay warm in his arms, now, snoring softly. How Yuri slept so soundly after the sun was high in the sky, Victor was never sure, but he was always glad to witness it.

His patience was wearing thin, though, and he clutched Yuri’s tummy and whispered in his year. “Oh Yuuuriiii~”

Yuri shifted and groaned adorably. “Vikutoruuuuu~” His accent was always thick when he just waking up.

“I made you breakfast and brought it up,” Victor said, gesturing extravagantly to the tray on the bedside table.

“Oh my god,” Yuri said, sitting up and putting on his glasses. 

“I know,” Victor said. He rested his chin on his fists happily and watched Yuri eat. “Are you ready for me to tell you why I’m a monster?”

“Victor!” Yuri nearly choked on his food. “I’ve been awake for all of thirty seconds.”

“Well I’ve been awake for hours,” Victor whined. “You should be thanking me for letting you sleep this long, especially on a training day.”

“Ah, thank you, coach,” Yuri said, taking another bite and grinning broadly with his mouth full. Victor could have died.

“You’re _very_ welcome.” Victor said, patting Yuri’s leg. “Now, about my tragic upbringing…”

“Oh no!” Yuri nearly keeled over.

“I’m kidding,” Victor said. “Mostly.”

“Were you raised by wolves?” Yuri asked him seriously.

“Yeah, kind of.”

Yuri nodded.

“I was loved,” Victor assured Yuri. “It was just different.”

“Different how?” Yuri asked.

The question was so simply put. Easy to ask, and should be easy to answer. Victor considered. What answer should he give? What did Yuri want to hear? What image did he, Victor, want to project? What was genuine, sincere? Yuri was waiting, looking more skeptical of Victor by the second. 

At last, Victor sighed. “I was supposed to achieve. It wasn’t up to me.”

Yuri was quiet and looking at him, his expression neutral. He wanted more.

“You had a family that supported you as you, and it mattered to them what you wanted. For me, what I wanted like, deep down, was never even a consideration. Or, rather, they assumed that all I could ever want was to be the very best in my career. And to say they supported _that_ is an understatement. They supported that through whatever means necessary.”

“Whatever means necessary,” Yuri repeated softly to himself. Victor knew he was wondering what means Victor had been subjected to, but that was beside the point. 

“That’s just to say that personal feelings weren’t really important to the people around me,” Victor said. “It was all about skating, and winning.”

“Was Yakov ever kind?” Yuri asked.

“Of course!” Victor replied. “I mean, in his way. He’s had a hard life. And he’s very passionate. That’s what I like so much about him. But there’s no denying it’s complicated.” Yakov snubbing Victor in China had been clear proof of that.

Yuri just nodded some more. Victor wished, as he always did, that he could read Yuri’s thoughts. 

As he looked at Yuri, what Victor didn’t know how to admit was that Yuri was everything he wasn’t and wished he could be. For over twenty years, Victor had worked endlessly to be not just an elite athlete, but a passionate artist. The skills he developed allowed him to convey that persona effectively and, for a long time, he was convinced that that was who he was. Over the years, though, through every cycle of training, program development, performance, win, and celebration, the artist in him felt more like he was following a formula for success than doing anything truly groundbreaking. Had he simply exhausted all his inspiration? Was he a fraud who had never really had that spark to begin with?

And then he saw Yuri. Yuri didn’t just skate—he danced on the ice like no one Victor had ever seen. This wasn’t just skill and training. Yuri made music come to life with his body. How could someone be so cool and passionate and fun and fascinating? How could someone just BE that, where Victor strived to perform that every day of his life?

“I think…” Victor swallowed. He wasn’t sure how this would work. Would this be another shattering of Yuri’s heart? “I think, sometimes, you frustrate me.”

Yuri lowered his chopsticks slowly, setting them down on the plate. He didn’t look up. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how to convey to you that your skating is exceptional in a way that you’ll believe,” Victor pressed on. “So I watch you fret and agonize, and, to me, it looks like you’re throwing your hard work and talent away. And it frustrates me.”

Yuri was quiet for a moment. “And that’s why you say cruel things?” he spoke softly.

“Yes.”

Yuri looked up, regarding Victor for some time. Victor held his gaze as long as he could, then squirmed. “God, Yuri, what?”

“You did promise me that you wouldn’t go easy on me,” Yuri said, finally, seeming to have found a conclusion that suited him. “I understand.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Victor recalled. “See? I’m just keeping my promises!”

Yuri raised an eyebrow at him, and Victor grinned.

“And—may I point out—“ Victor chanced, “It worked.”

Yuri’s eyes blew wide and nostrils flared. Oh, those expressions were priceless.

“You said you felt better after you cried and were the right kind of mad at me to skate really well!” Victor said hurriedly. Yuri looked on the verge of strangling him. Victor protected his neck instinctively as Yuri clambered on top of him. “What’s your plan? Going to kill your beloved coach?”

“I’m considering it,” Yuri growled, pinning Victor’s head between his palms as if he were about to crush Victor’s skull.

“Yuri no! Mercy!” Victor cried, but he knew he deserved this. He burst into theatrical sobs. “Yuri is...evil? Yuri is unyielding? Yuri is incapable of love? I am running away. I am packing my little rucksack…”

“Fine,” Yuri said mildly, releasing him. “Go, if you must.”

“Yuri!” Victor threw himself back into Yuri’s arms. “You cruel man. You were just going to let me leave!”

Yuri held him close. “There there,” he teased, stroking Victor’s hair. “I will not send you away today.”

Victor leaned back to give Yuri a pitiful look that said, “seriously, though.”

Yuri laughed, opening his arms and wrapping Victor in the softest hug, one that assured Victor that he was loved in a way that he’d always imagined and never thought possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
